


genesis

by lionsenpai



Category: Drag-On Dragoon | Drakengard, Drakengard 3
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 22:52:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3335771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One must learn to become a god. Five must learn how to love one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	genesis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zerrat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zerrat/gifts).



The place reeks of dust and age, forgotten ceremonies and the faint traces of smoke. Incense lit decades ago and left to burn through the ages, perhaps—or more likely, a product of their conquest, the fires still burning brightly in the bleeding sky. The red-orange smears across the horizon, a sign of the blood shed upon the ground, yet One only has eyes for the chapel, the cracking marble altar and time touched golden fixtures, candles wax and ancient stubs spilling down their necks in thick, grey fingers. 

 

"I will make my seat here," One announces. The sound of her voice rings through the air, and the room around them shifts, growing lighter, more pleasant. 

Five digs the end of her spear into the fraying rug, cutting through to the stone beneath, and leans heavily against the crux. " _Here_ , One?" she asks, sweeping over the room with her eyes. 

High ceilings, thick pillars, and dusty stained glass too broken or filthy to make sense of. A dreary place, no matter how she looks at it, more a tomb than a church. And why shouldn't it be? The gods who ruled before lie still as death, their idols scattered across the floor without regard, no different than the fragments of pottery and crescents of dishes collecting dirt upon the stone floor. 

"I can't help but wonder at your tastes, One," Five says, tossing her battle-harried mane. "What exactly do you expect to gain from taking such a depressing place as your capitol?"

One turns and takes a step toward Five, her back straight, shoulders set. Her eyes glow like pale fire, more striking against the blood painting her clothes, her skin. She hadn't bothered to wash after the battle was done; duty flows through her veins, and she can't rest while there are still things to be done. It had been a endearing quirk once upon a time, but now it encompasses all she is, making her someone more than she was before the war. Barely blinking, she says, "There are lessons here. I should like to learn them."

Five's gut churns, longing cold and lonely knotting like snakes. She is accustomed to fire, heat, and the insistence of desire, but there's nothing of that in her now, mouth twisting into a frown at the sight of One before the altar. A wall of mosaic rises behind her, stones cut into the shapes of bowing men and a burning flame, but their god withers behind One's slight frame, bestial claws and fearsome wings sprouting from her shoulders. It could be made for her, her place cut in stone, a piece always meant to return to this place. 

Frown growing more severe, Five offers, "There are better things for you to learn—in places more suited for a queen. The tents have been pitched in the bailey. Allow me to escort you to yours and  _instruct_  you thoroughly."

Humor touches One's expression, but she looks away, gazing upon the altar before her. "You have heard them, Five. We're more than queens to them."

"As it should be," Five declares, pushing from her spear and approaching the pedestal, eyes never leaving One's back, her slim shoulders. She looks up at the stained glass, the crimson light filtering in as the sun touches the horizon, and she is dyed red, the light and the blood spilling across her whites until not an inch remains. Working her jaw, Five says, "If you look to these ancient beings for wisdom, I'm afraid your divinity may be short-lived, One."

"There is much to be learned from the dead." One touches the altar, gloves light against the graying marble. She touches a candle stick, gold so burnished it's nearly brass, and doesn't turn when Five stops behind her. 

"Yet they make such terrible company," Five says, gaze cutting between the forgotten idols littering the ground around the altar. One will rot here, dust collecting on her shoulders until there's more weight than she can bear. She can see it already, and the thought makes her pulse quicken, song spiking sharply. One glances over her shoulder, and Five takes the chance to catch her hand, the symphony of her song delicious even beneath her thick woolens. "Gut this place, One. What do these bones know of  _us_ , of our rule?"

One turns, glancing at their hands, and says, "They will teach me how to make it  _last_."

"You fixate on survival, but you ought to  _thrive_ , One. Locked away here—all alone _—_ you'll barely be living." Five runs her thumb over the back of One's gloves. "Come with me to the Land of Seas."

There, the two of them would truly live, their rule unchallenged as they lived like gods among their subjects. Pilgrims would arrive in droves for the chance to bend at their feet and offer their praise, and if a heretic ever did arise, Five would erase them. Even their wayward sister—even Zero—would serve on her knees, or either she would burn with the others. All One need do is agree, and their divinity would be unquestioned.

Yet Five knows One, and looking upon her, she sees the futility in it all. Deposing the warlords had made her as unwavering, her thoughts ever circling, ever fixating on  _what is right_.

One touches Five's cheek, dusty leather still stained with blood rough against her skin. "Would that I could."

_Godhood_ , Five thinks bitterly, choking on the taste of it. _A poor trade indeed_. 

For a moment, she inhales the stale air, the ages cataloged in the banners of cobwebs hanging overhead, and tastes One in the feel of her song, lulling and smooth even through the layers between them. It is the song of a god, she remembers, leaning into One's touch. She will lock herself away in this forsaken place to delve into the past, intent to find a way to save them all—always to save them all. Five's fingers dance across One's sleeve, tightening on the cuff. 

She's no longer just One, just her leader; now Five's love must come as an offering, a protestation on her knees. 

For One, she doesn't even think. 

Five turns into the touch, kissing the heel of her palm as a promise, an oath. She drinks in her song like a hymn and bows her head, cradling One's hand in both of hers.

Surprise loosens One's expression, the tension bleeding out of her to the insistence of Five's devotion, and when Five glances up, scarlet adorns One's skin like a sin, purity denied in the light of the stained glass, the touch of Five's lips. "There are rites for such an occasion."

One's song flutters. "Lost, certainly."

"Not all of them," she says, voice low like a prayer. She slips her fingers under the edge of One's glove. "I could..."

Above her, One touches the altar behind her and inhales sharply. She nods, acceptance unspoken, and Five pulls the leather from her hands, pale skin beneath clean and unsullied. 

Five presses her lips to One's knuckles and tosses aside her glove, tasting the absolution between her fingers with quick darts of her tongue. There are no waters to cleanse her body, yet Five burns away the sin with her fingers and mouth, pulling the blood-soaked cloth and trailing fire along her skin until One gasps, heat exchanged between Five's adoration and One's skin. She bends the knee when One's shawl and jacket fall away, never raising her head from her work, never faltering or hesitating even as One's thighs trembles, her voice growing tight and breathy with need. She won't beg, but Five offers her everything freely, making sweet libations with her tongue and the sweat glistening on One's stomach. 

The fingers in her hair sing of desire as clearly as One's song, the canticles reverberating across Five's skin, and when there's no more strength in her knees, Five pushes One up onto the alter, her shoulders pressed into the mosaic behind her. 

It's the only time Five dares look upon her, her fingers playing at the hem of her tights, her voice high and keening, hair feathering away from her face like the wings behind her. In the coming dusk, there is no red to paint her skin but her own, yet in the darkness of the chapel she glows, ethereal and gorgeous. It should be different.  _Everything_  should be different, but Five has never seen her in any other light, never wanted more than to be where she is. She kneels before the only god she'll ever serve, her offerings and worship pressing into the jut of her hips, and pulls at the only clothes which defile her perfection.

"Five," One pants, raising her hips and twisting against the ancient deity. " _Five._ "

The tights and boots fall away with only a whisper of fabric on skin, and with One's thighs on her shoulders and her hands in her hair, Five slips between her legs, fingers curling into her hips. 

It's a baptism, heat and slick desire purifying them both. One jerks, and Five persists, their songs clashing and meshing and soaring in a great crescendo, and soon it's all Five can do to ground One, to keep her from ascending right before her eyes, body trembling and thighs closing around Five's ears. It delivers One's song right to her, sweeter than wine, and when One tips her head back and gives a cry, it's deliverance. 

Afterwards, there's only stillness, One's breath harsh and shuddering, and Five presses reverent kisses to the inside of her thighs, skimming fingers along her hips. The sun has set, the cool night closing in on the both of them, but when One slides her legs from Five's shoulders, her flesh is warm, fingers caressing the line of Five's jaw. She guides her up to her waiting mouth, kissing her and drawing her into her until they're both breathless. 

Wrapped up in her, Five grips at the back of her neck, breathing, "Are you sure you won't reconsider, One?"

One pulls her down and presses her lips to Five's brow, and Five knows it isn't the sanction she desires. She closes her eyes and breathes deep of One, a terrible longing coiling in her stomach, denial twisting her features.

Gentle hands at her shoulders push her back, and in the shadows and gloom, One's skin is pale white, unblemished and pure. She's been reborn upon the altar, her mortal trappings falling away with the proof her sins, and Five nearly must look away as she rises. She's divine, untouched by this world or its sin, but when she looks upon Five, there's still heat in her eyes, affection and desire her only tether. 

She sinks into Five, face pressed into her neck, fingers trailing along her jaw and into her hair. "When Zero is finished," One says. "I will join you in the Land of Seas."

Five's heart skips a beat. "Will you swear it?"

" _Yes_ ," she says. "By the bones of these old gods."

"And the new?"

One's lips ghost Five's pulse. "And the new."

**Author's Note:**

> This entire thing was written in like two days and spawned from a brief conversation about religious themes and imagery with goddamn Zerrat.


End file.
